


On the Way Down

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Clark has such a crush, Fluff, M/M, mentions of WonderLane, past Clois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 07:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10657872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: A series of uninvited guests finally get Clark to confront Bruce about all the feelings he's harbored for years.





	On the Way Down

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission! And it made me realize I really need to write more SuperBat.

Clark slid his key into his apartment door, sighing as he turned it. He was tired, was looking forward to  _ maybe _ a quiet night, if the city could keep for once. Which it usually couldn’t.

 

He turned the lock, picked up the sound of a heartbeat on the other side. Tensing, he pulled the key out, pocketed it and turned the knob, braced for his night to suddenly go to hell. But when he opened the door, instead of being greeted by any number of attacks- a blast to the chest, a flying fist to his jaw- it was to a grinning face and the smell of  _ pizza _ .

 

“Hey there big blue,” Dick said, hip cocked, holding the box in both hands. “Was wondering if I was gonna have to eat this whole thing without you.”

 

Clark cracked a grin, shoving his apartment door shut as Dick set the box down on his small kitchen table. They met half way between door and table, Clark pulling Dick into a tight hug. “What are you doing here?” he asked, not even pretending that the overly-long hug was anything but enjoyable. He’d never had a problem with the first Robin’s physical affections.

 

“Thought I’d drop in, visit a friend,” Dick said, elbowing Clark and heading back for the table. He flipped open the pizza box, as Clark moved past him towards the cabinets, pulling down two plates. “Make sure you’re eating and not, you know, hopping from one job to the next.”

 

Clark passed him a plate, watched as Dick piled one too many pieces of overly greasy pizza onto it. They made their way to the living room, collapsing on the couch with the light off and the evening light streaming in through the glass doors that led out to Clark’s balcony.

 

“I ever tell you this is a nice place?” Dick asked, before taking a huge bite. Clark shook his head, as Dick chewed, swallowed “It  _ is _ . Get a lot of action with that view?” He jerked his head towards the balcony, and Clark was  _ laughing _ .

 

“When did you grow up and get raunchy?” he asked, and Dick shrugged a shoulder, tucking his legs up comfortably.

 

“You’d know if I got to see you more. Come over more. Sometimes I come back to the Manor, just to make sure Bruce hasn’t driven Alfred to his grave yet.” Clark snorted a laugh, not giving an answer and focusing on his pizza. Dick gave him a minute, the two falling into silence until the first slices were gone. “Really,” Dick said, as Clark stood up, taking Dick’s plate. “You should come see Bruce.”

 

Clark furrowed his brow. “If Bruce wanted to see me, there’s the tower. Or he’d call.” Not that he really  _ would _ , Clark knew. Touch and go, that was how he had to view their friendship. At the end of the day he’d take a barrage of bullets for the man, just like he knew Bruce would take a damn Kryptonite spike to the heart for him- but they were still tense. Bruce was too…

 

Unwilling to yield, it was the only way Clark could think about it. Unwilling to let his walls down. Clark had seen him do it with his kids, but it was precious few moments that he did it with  _ him _ , or Diana.

 

“Do you want more?” Clark asked, and Dick shook his head. Clark set the plates in the sink, heard the sound of the couch groaning as Dick stood up, moved to stand in his kitchen doorway.

 

“You ever get lonely?” he asked, “you know, in this apartment?”

 

Clark reached up, took his glasses off. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the day wearing down on him. “No,” he lied, not looking at Dick as he did so. “I have friends here. If I really need company, I can call Lois.”

 

“Friends with your ex. Bold.”

 

“She’s a fantastic woman,” Clark pointed out, and Dick lifted his hands defensively.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of fighting you on that. I know she is. I’d never want to be on her bad side. But you know, a lot of people have trouble building a friendship after a relationship.”

 

“She’s moving on, and so am I.” But  _ was he _ was a real question. Clark hadn’t been on a single date since they broke up well over six months ago. And Lois- well, Clark saw the way she  _ looked _ at Diana every time she stopped by Metropolis to see Clark. He figured it was simply respect that kept her from actually  _ hitting _ on Wonder Woman- he wouldn’t dream of thinking Lois wasn’t brave enough to actually do it if she wanted to.

 

Clark didn’t blame her- he almost wanted to encourage it. Maybe it would ease his own guilt that he’d still had  _ feelings _ when he was with her, for others.

 

_ Other _ , he corrected. As if it made it any better.

 

“If you say so.” Dick walked over, clasped a hand on his shoulder. “I hate to eat and run, but the Titans are expecting me tonight. Keep in touch big blue?” Clark smiled, and when Dick gave him a second hug, he squeezed tightly- and okay, maybe he was missing physical affection just a little. When he let go he walked Dick to the door, watched him step into the hallway before he was turning back, adding, “And really, come visit!”

 

He waved, and Clark waved back, thinking nothing else of it. After all, Dick was an old friend, had been since he was a boy and Bruce had first taken him in. Of all the kids, Clark had the most experience with him.

 

*

 

Clark landed on his balcony with a heavy  _ thud _ , hoping he wasn’t waking the neighbors up downstairs. It was nearly three AM and he’d just flown halfway across the country to help with a plane wreck, and he was ready to strip of his suit and crawl into bed. He had an article he had to turn in that morning, and of course, it wasn’t done.

 

He moved to unlock his balcony doors, was so distracted by the late hour he didn’t pay attention to the sounds of breathing, to the second heartbeat. But the moment he had the door open and was stepping inside, he was greeted.

 

“Was wonderin’ when you’d get home.”

 

Clark straightened up, looked through his small living room and towards the kitchen. And, sitting on his counter like he owned the place, was Jason Todd.

 

His helmet was sitting next to him, and he was nursing a glass he had obviously taken from Clark’s cabinets. The bottle of whiskey next to him, however, was not Clark’s.

 

“Breaking and entering is a crime,” Clark pointed out. He wasn’t unnerved by the second Robin- had too many memories of the kid in those shorts and pixie boots looking up at him and forgetting how to speak- but he wasn’t an  _ idiot _ . Jason kept Bruce on his toes for a damn reason- he was good, down to his bones, at  _ whatever _ he did.

 

“Brought a gift,” Jason said, lifting up the bottle. He’d opened it and already had a few shots, but it was still mostly full. “Got tired of waiting. Where you been?”

 

“Just helping out,” Clark said, tugging the balcony door shut. He headed towards Jason, watched Jason set his glass down, pick up an empty one next to him and pour it a little too full. He held it out, and Clark eyed it, before deciding it didn’t  _ matter _ , wasn’t like alcohol did much of anything to him.

 

“It’s the thought that counts,” Jason said, as Clark took a sip, grimaced over the burn. Like he was reading his damn mind.

 

“So what are you doing here?” Clark paused, before he grew serious. “Is something wrong?”

 

“If it was I wouldn’t be sitting on your counter drinking whiskey. I’d probably be bleeding on your carpet.” Jason took a drink. “Can’t a fan just stop in to see his hero?”

 

Clark wasn’t sure if he wanted to ruffle Jason’s hair or frown at him. The guy was hard to read like that. “Usually not at three in the morning when he has a day job.”

 

“Yeah well, I never see you otherwise. Not like I get invited up to that Watch tower, and you’re never around now.” Jason finished off his glass, before he leaned forward, grey eyes gorgeous and just a bit intimidating. “Why is that? You used to come over.”

 

“Talk to your father,” Clark said, before he wondered if he should have rethought that statement. But if the term bothered Jason, he didn’t let it show.

 

“B and I don’t always do well with  _ talking _ . He doesn’t do well with that with anyone. Bet if you tired though…” Jason shrugged a shoulder. “He’s different around you.”

 

Clark hummed, studied the whiskey in his glass. And it dawned on him that Dick had asked him the same thing, to visit the Manor. Had shown up just as unexpectedly. But it had to be a coincidence. Nothing more.

 

Jason hopped off the counter, left the bottle of whiskey there. “That’s for you,” he said, “maybe if you drink it fast enough you’ll feel it for five seconds.” He flashed a smile, handsome against his tanned skin and the hint of freckles along his face. “I’ve got places to be.”

 

He moved past Clark, was heading for his balcony doors. Clark followed, set his glass down on the end table by his couch, as Jason shoved them open. “But what do you  _ want _ ?” Clark asked, feeling as if there had been no clarity at all to this visit.

 

“I told you,” Jason said, glancing back, still smiling. “Just for you to visit my dear old  _ dad _ .” 

 

He was hopping over the edge of the balcony before Clark could get in another word, and he knew better than to bother looking. Jason would be gone. He was a  _ bat _ , they were all good at that. Clark just hoped he was going by foot or rooftop for an hour or two, until he burned off that alcohol. Last thing he needed was to be bailing one of Bruce’s kids out of jail for drunk driving.

 

They were smarter than that, anyway.

 

*

 

Clark wasn’t exactly sure what woke him from his dead sleep. But  _ something _ wasn’t right. He groaned, lifted his head and looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was blinking almost five AM. He grumbled, dropped his head back into his pillow, had a good hour before his alarm went off- but then he heard it, two heartbeats that didn’t seem to belong. That felt vaguely familiar.

 

He rolled onto his back, lay there for a moment listening, before he sat up. He tossed his blanket aside, climbed out of bed and wandered through his dark apartment in his well worn, striped pajama pants. He could hear them outside, and when he pulled the curtains back covering the glass doors to the balcony, he was greeted by two sets of eyes, watching behind white lenses.

 

Clark unlocked the door, shoving it open. Outside the air was chilled, made him just want to crawl back into bed. “Can I help you two?” he asked, staring at  _ Red Robin _ and the  _ Black Bat _ , perched on the railing to his balcony.

 

“Uh,” Tim started, “thought you were sleeping?”

 

“Your heartbeats woke me up.”

 

“Is that normal?”

 

“Not really,” Clark admitted, “is something wrong?” He couldn’t fathom any other reason he’d have  _ two _ batkids on his balcony at five AM.

 

“No, no,” Tim said, hopping off the railing and shaking his head, holding his hands up. “Not at all! We didn’t want to scare you, we were going to wait until you were up and all…” he paused, took a breath. “Just wanted to check in. You know. See how you’re doing.”

 

Clark furrowed his brow, glanced at Cassandra. She said nothing, but he didn’t expect her to.

 

“You’re the third and  _ fourth _ kids to show up here,” Clark pointed out, “in less than a week. Something is up.”

 

“No! It’s just… well you know, we wanted to make sure you weren’t lonely. Because if you were, and you wanted to stop by the Manor well… Alfred always has enough dinner for an army.” Tim flashed a nervous grin, but Clark wasn’t buying it. This was  _ ridiculous _ , and definitely no longer a coincidence.

 

Clark waved them off. “I’m going back to bed,” he said, sounding more sour than he meant to. But whatever mind game Bruce was trying to play by sending his kids, he wasn’t  _ interested _ . If he wanted to be a concerned friend, he could  _ call _ . It wasn’t that hard to pick up a damn phone.

 

Even if there had been days where Clark had wanted to, and swore the phone was made of Kryptonite.

 

Before he would turn to walk back inside, Cassandra was hopping off the railing. She took the two steps to him, reached out and pressed her gloved fingers to his bare chest. The material felt like Bruce’s gloves, and Clark didn’t like the way that made his throat close up. “Truth,” she said, slowly, like she was formulating each and every word from raw sounds in her head. “You are missed.”

 

She pulled back, turned away from Clark and gave Tim a nod, before she was climbing over the railing, dropping off. Tim glanced back at Clark, before he turned, climbing up himself. One more glance back, and he said, “really Clark. Just… come over.”

 

He was gone, and Clark had a pounding headache.

 

*

 

It didn’t make sense. None of it. Why would  _ four _ of the kids show up, wanting him to just visit? Maybe if it had been just one, he could believe they actually missed him- after all, he’d been watching them grow up. He’d worked with them, admired them even- they were good kids, good  _ adults _ .

 

It was just too strange, though. And he could only think Bruce had sent them himself- but why? Was he checking in on Clark? Did he think he was mentally falling apart because of a  _ breakup _ ? Because he wasn’t. Yeah, maybe that first month had hurt, but there had been something to fall back on-

 

And that was the fact that, no matter how much he had loved her, he’d always had a  _ thing _ for Bruce, too. It had left him feeling guilty so many nights, wondering how horrible he was to love Lois and love someone else- and it  _ still _ ate at him, even though he was fairly sure she knew, had always known. He just hoped she knew it never meant he loved her any less.

 

He was almost offended that Bruce might think he was falling apart. Offended more that he couldn’t just check in himself…

 

Granted, there was also the option that he was using  _ Clark _ to keep the kids in line. Give them a purpose so they couldn’t get into trouble- god forbid he just trust them completely.

 

Clark gritted his teeth, rounding the corner towards his apartment complex. He’d stayed late at the Planet- had actually had a good talk with Lois, and he  _ should _ be settling in for a night of quiet work- or, if need be, donning his cape and heading out to lose any negative emotions he had in his work.

 

Instead he was worked up over Bruce and the damn man wasn’t even there.

 

He pulled his key out, let himself into his apartment. He should have stopped to pick up dinner, he realized- wasn’t sure what was left in his fridge. He really needed to go grocery shopping. But when was there really time? And cooking for just himself… well, okay, that was a little depressing.

 

He dropped his keys on the counter, headed for the fridge and popped it open. Definitely pretty empty. Maybe he could just order something…

 

He pondered it as he turned, heading from the kitchen and through the living room, towards his bedroom. He was mulling over his choices in his head when he pushed his bedroom door open, flicked the light on- and nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

“-Tt- I thought you could hear heartbeats?”

 

Clark stared at the kid sitting cross legged in the center of his bed, arms folded and  _ scowling _ . Damian looked too much like Bruce when he did that, when Clark otherwise thought he looked more like his mother. But that look was pure, unadulterated Bruce Wayne.

 

“Distracted,” Clark managed, before he collected himself. “What are you doing in my apartment?  _ In my room _ ?”

 

“Waiting.” Damian said it as if it was obvious, and Clark shook his head.

 

“Listen, I have had it up to  _ here _ with surprise visits from you kids,” he started, not bothering to hide the anger, “I don’t know what Bruce set you up to do, but I just don’t have the patience for it. So go home and tell him to bother someone else- or at least do this in person.”

 

Damian stared, before his scowl fell away to a more neutral line. He unfolded his legs, crawled off the bed and stood up- not nearly as tall as everyone thought he’d get, and while he was only twelve, had years of growing still, Clark figured he’d never be Bruce’s size.

 

“Father does not know I am here,” Damian said, pausing in front of Clark. “He did not know any of us came.” Clark stared for a moment, was ready to question Damian, but the kid was walking past him. “You were going to order dinner. I know because there is very little in your kitchen. Do not forget I’m a vegetarian.”

 

Clark turned, watched Damian walking into his living room and sighed. As if this wasn’t all complicated enough, it seemed he had a dinner guest now.

 

*

 

He ordered Chinese, had it delivered to his apartment. Damian seemed  _ offended _ when he popped open one of the containers to eat straight from it- but he didn’t refuse the food. Instead of talking though, he paced around Clark’s apartment, inspecting it-  _ judging _ it.

 

“-Tt-, it’s small,” he said, before he stuffed a forkful of lo mein into his mouth.

 

“I don’t need a castle,” Clark pointed out, “it’s just me.” Damian hummed, continued eating as he walked back to Clark’s bedroom. Clark set his own container down, following Damian quickly- because, okay, batkid or not, there had to be  _ some _ limit to his inspection. Clark deserved a little privacy. When he reached the bedroom Damian had toed open his closet, had his head inclined as he studied his clothing.

 

“You still dress like a farmer,” he mused, standing in front of a cluster of plaid shirts. Clark opened his mouth to defend himself, because they were comfortable and he didn’t see a  _ problem _ with them- but Damian had lost interest, was already heading towards his nightstand.

 

He had the drawer open before Clark began to move. Still, he hurried across the room, reaching to slam it shut- but Damian had plucked out the string of condoms already, holding them up in one hand. Clark felt his cheeks tinge with color, before he snatched them away, shoving them in the drawer and forcibly turning Damian away.

 

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” he said, pushing him towards the door. Damian didn’t resist.

 

“They were expired,” he pointed out, and Clark groaned. Maybe he’d had them since he and Lois had known they were going sour. Maybe he hadn’t gotten any  _ since _ Lois and really, that was okay. He was busy anyway. There were other important things. “That is unsafe and negates the purpose.”

 

Clark wasn’t going to dignify this with an answer. He forced Damian down on the couch, as Damian finished off the entire container in a final bite. “I’m taking you home,” Clark said, “I’m not a babysitter. I think your father forgets that.”

 

Damian settled his fork in the container, setting it off on the end table. His brow creased. “I told you, father has no idea that I am here.” Damian folded his arms, leaning back into the couch. He looked… small, like that. “I chose to come here on my own.”

 

“I don’t buy it. You don’t have a reason-”

 

“The  _ reason _ is the convince you to leave this city for one measly night and come keep my father company!” Damian kept himself folded up, scowling up at Clark. “I had thought Grayson would be enough to convince, but when he failed we  _ all _ had to join in.”

 

Clark stared at Damian for a moment, before he settled down on the couch next to him. He stretched his arm out along the back of the couch, studying the kid who wouldn’t look at him now, was glaring forward. And  _ why _ did they want him there so badly? What was so desperately wrong that Bruce needed him and the kids were the ones to have to reach out? “Is your father alright?” he asked, and Damian huffed.

 

“No,” he said, finally turning to look up at Clark. “He is pathetically  _ lonely _ and it is painful to watch.” Clark’s frown deepened, and Damian rolled his eyes. “Father is happy around you. We have all seen it. No matter how… petulant the two of you can get.”

 

That was  _ rich _ coming from this kid.

 

“You are a good… team…” Damian said the word like it was sour. “In the field and… not. And you are a good asset to have. A good…” he paused, like he was trying to find the word. “ _ Security net _ .”

 

Clark might have been insulted, if this was anyone else. But this was simply how Damian spoke to everyone. And it was… sweet, in his own way. “You worry about your dad a lot,” Clark commented, ignoring for a moment the fact that his heart rate had picked up, that he could feel it pounding against his ribs. Trying to not think of Bruce, in that moment, but focusing on the kid in front of him.

 

“Someone has to,” Damian pointed out, before he tipped his head back, suddenly yawning.

 

  
“Uh-huh.” Clark couldn’t help but smile. “You have some long nights kiddo?”

 

Damian tried to scowl, but it didn’t work. “Father and I have been working a case for the past week. There is little time for sleep or anything else.” He shifted back, gave a little grunt. “This couch is not uncomfortable.”

 

“I’ll take the compliment.” Clark watched the kid’s eyes flutter shut, before Damian was leaning to the side slightly. A moment later, and his head was bumping against Clark’s chest. Clark stared down at him, but Damian didn’t move, only rested his cheek there.

 

“This is better,” he muttered, sounding indignant- and Clark didn’t really know what to  _ do _ . He’d had other Robins fall asleep around him in the past, but Damian just didn’t seem like the kid to snuggle.

 

Still, Clark curled an arm around him, kept him close. “I’m going to have to lecture Bruce on how much sleep a growing kid needs.”

 

“You will need to go to the manor for that,” Damian said, and Clark swore he was smiling. Clark hummed, figured the kid was right- but didn’t have the heart to move him in that moment. Instead he simply honed in on Damian’s heartbeat, found it steady, calm. Soothing.

 

*

 

Clark’s feet landed against the top step of the manor, in front of the door. Completely passed out and cradled in his arms, Damian sighed in his sleep, curling up into the heat of Clark’s chest. Clark managed to get the doorbell with his elbow- figured he should have called or something, but considering the week he’d had with uninvited guests, he figured Bruce was owed at least one.

 

He expected it to be Alfred at the door. So when Bruce opened it, still in his slacks and dress shirt from the day, Clark could only stare. He’d rolled the sleeves up, popped a number of buttons open, looked like he’d given his hair a good tug a few times while he was working.

 

For a single moment those dark blue eyes were just  _ slightly _ wide, before he was stoic again. Before he was the Bruce Clark was used to. He glanced down at Damian, gave a little  _ hmph _ . “Did he cause you trouble?”

 

“Only a little- expected with your Robins.” Clark flashed a smile, was glad that Bruce couldn’t hear like he could- couldn’t pick up the hyper rhythm of his heart. God he shouldn’t look that good.

 

Bruce hummed, stepped aside. Clark stepped in, as Bruce shut the door behind them. For a moment Bruce stood to his side, facing him, like he might offer to take the child- but when Clark didn’t offer up Damian, he didn’t ask. Instead Bruce silently headed for the stairs, and Clark followed. The movement shifted Damian, and he gave a little groan, but didn’t actually wake up.

 

Down the long hallway, and Bruce opened up a door. Clark stepped inside, noticed that Titus was already laying on the foot of the bed. The dog lifted his head, watched as Clark walked over, Bruce hurrying behind him. Wordlessly, Bruce pulled the blanket back, and Clark leaned over, settled Damian in. He was attempting to fix his pillows, when he heard Bruce getting Damian’s high tops off, setting them on the floor. Clark stepped back, let Bruce pull the blanket up, tuck his son in- and smiled, when for a single moment Bruce smoothed Damian’s hair back, before straightening up.

 

He nodded towards the door, and Clark followed. Behind them, Titus settled his head back down, content now that Damian was home. The door shut, and Clark followed Bruce down the hallway, towards his study. Bruce pushed the door open, and Clark filled the doorway, watched as Bruce crossed the room, settled back at his chair.

 

“Thank you for bringing him home,” he said, folding his hands and resting them on the desk, ignoring the papers he had out. There was an expensive pen laying out atop some of them.

 

Clark nodded, stepped in, let the door ease shut behind him. “I’ve had a lot of visitors this week,” he said, thinking if he didn’t just bring this up now, he never would. It’d rot in his gut like all the other thoughts he wanted to share with Bruce. “Five, actually.” He took another step into the room. “You want to tell me why your kids all suddenly showed up at my apartment and tried to get me to come here?”

 

Bruce’s brow creased. He bowed his head slightly, like he was thinking. The motion, the light, it caught on his hair, showed off the hint of grey beginning to pepper the sides already. It was something small that Clark found he  _ loved _ . “I wouldn’t know,” he admitted. “Try as I might, I’ve never been able to control a single one of them.”

 

“Good for them.” Bruce’s head snapped up at that, and Clark forced himself across the room. “You didn’t set them up to it, then?” He shook his head, and Clark sighed. He reached up, pushed his glasses up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. He heard Bruce’s chair then, his steps, and god, he could feel him, standing so close.

 

“You have a headache.” Did he sound concerned or  _ confused _ ?

 

“It’s nothing,” Clark mumbled, as Bruce reached up, took his glasses. They were set on the desk behind him, before a hand was curling around Clark’s wrist, guiding his hand away from his face. His eyes snapped open, and Bruce was leaning close, peering into his eyes, studying them.

 

“Your pupils look normal,” he said, as his thumb pressed against Clark’s wrist. He was too close, he smelled like expensive cologne, he looked  _ too good _ , and Clark couldn’t breathe. “Your pulse is high,” Bruce mused, before he properly flipped Clark’s wrist, settled two fingers against it. His brow knit as he frowned. “Do you feel alright?”

 

“Fine,” Clark said, his voice almost cracking. Bruce’s fingers were rough, and god, he  _ knew _ that, it wasn’t the first time he’d touched him. But he was still stuck on the feel of his callouses, wishing they’d slide up past his shirt sleeves, along the tender skin of his inner arm. “Just been a long week.”

 

Bruce hummed. “Who came to see you, exactly?” He was still feeling for Clark’s pulse.

 

“Dick,” he started with, “that was  _ normal _ . Then Jason was in my kitchen. Tim and Cassandra were on my balcony. Damian was making himself at home in my room.” Bruce winced a little at that.

 

“I’ll have a talk with them about privacy.”

 

“It doesn't change  _ why _ they came- and I thought… maybe…” Bruce’s eyes dragged back up to Clark, and god, he couldn’t say it, not with him looking right into his soul.

 

“Thought what, Clark?”

 

He swallowed thickly. “Thought maybe you’d sent them,” he admitted, and whatever steely resolve he pretended to have was fleeting, flitting away in the air. He was melting under that dark stare. “Maybe you… wanted to just make sure I was alright.”

 

“If you weren’t alright I’d know,” Bruce said, and it was so matter-of-fact, so cocky and yet somehow  _ not _ arrogant. It was just a fact Bruce seemed sure of. “Your pulse doesn’t usually elevate much unless we’re really straining though. Have you been exposed to something?” He finally pulled his hand back, and Clark said possibly the stupidest two words of his entire life.

 

“Just you.”

 

Bruce snapped his head up, and Clark realized the words had left his mouth. And- oh hell, there was no turning back now. There was no brushing that off with a well placed smile and laugh- he wasn’t put together enough for that. Too awkward, too honest.

 

“You wouldn't know,” Clark added, “because I haven’t been alright in a long time. Not around you.” He looked away, had to put himself away from Bruce’s eyes. “Not sure I ever really have been.”

 

Now that was true. Even before he knew Bruce, knew the man in front of him, there was simple physical attraction. That he couldn’t deny.

 

“I’m going to go,” Clark said, still not looking back. “Before I say something else. Make sure your kid gets some sleep, he was exhausted.” He moved to turn, but his wrist was caught for a second time, in Bruce’s hold. Clark paused, glanced down at the point of contact, before looking back up, at Bruce’s eyes.

 

They were so open, dark but inviting, seeming to swallow Clark up. His mouth opened, a small exhale, and Bruce tugged, got him to stumble a step closer. “Say something else,” Bruce urged, stepping back himself, bumping into his desk. Another breath, and then, “ _ say anything at all _ .”

 

Clark swallowed the lump in his throat. Bruce’s other hand reached up, gripping his chin firmly.

 

“Or I’ll do something we regret.” Bruce’s voice had a timber to it, a deep shaking rumble, and Clark swore his knees felt weak. It shouldn’t have happened, he wasn’t some teenager in a youth’s novel- but god,  _ god _ he was undone, wanted so badly to just explode and let Bruce see every moment of affection and desire he’d held in his chest for years.

 

When he didn’t speak, Bruce did it for them both, without words. He pushed up, pressed his mouth to Clark’s. It was caste, quick, a simple brush of his mouth and then nothing at all, and yet it was everything Clark had wanted. And it was everything he  _ needed _ to kickstart his utter loss of control.

 

He pushed at Bruce, boxed him in against the desk. Bruce’s hand fell from his face, grasped at his bicep and squeezed, hard, as Clark reached out, got his hand on his waist. He chased his mouth, before Bruce could truly pull away, kissed him properly. Bruce gave a low groan, nipped at Clark’s lower lip. His teeth caught and Clark grunted, groaned as Bruce pulled back, tugged at his lip and then broke the kiss.

 

For a moment, Clark just stared down at him. And Bruce, gods be damned, he smirked. That same cocky smile he got at the end of a good fight, when he knew he’d won.

 

“Or maybe we won’t regret it,” he offered, his thumb rubbing little circles into Clark’s bicep. Clark took a single, deep breath, before it came shuddering out.

 

“Not with you,” he admitted, “I never regret anything with you.” Maybe it was too honest, because Bruce seemed to retract, slightly, to seem a little shocked. But Clark had to be honest, now. “We do this,” he said, as if Bruce was laying some sort of contract on the table for him, some offer, “we do it properly. I don’t want…” he paused, swallowed. “I don’t want to fade away.”

 

Bruce hummed. “Are you asking me something, Clark?” He leaned back in, ghosted another single kiss against his mouth. “Do it right.”

 

This time, Clark smiled. “Maybe we can start with dinner?” The faintest smile, and Bruce nodded.

 

“That’s a good start.” Bruce pulled Clark in closer, until he was reaching forward, resting his hands on the desk on either side of Bruce’s hips, stooping over so he had to almost glance up at Bruce.

 

“You have to promise your kids won’t all stop by during,” Clark teased, and the faint smile cracked into a grin. It was so damn becoming on Bruce that Clark swore his heart was pulsing against his tongue.

 

“I can’t,” he said, “I told you- I can’t control them. No one can. But I can say…” he leaned back in, and against Clark’s lips, finished, “I’m glad I can’t.”

 

Bruce kissed him again, and Clark had to agree. Hell, he might have to personally thank each of the kids for stopping by that week, for driving him a little crazy. After all, he might have never taken this step without them.

 

And Damian- well, he wondered if Bruce was opposed to another  _ thank you pet _ because that kid had been the one to seal the deal.


End file.
